


internally consumed

by starryhedgehog



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 22:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20090086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryhedgehog/pseuds/starryhedgehog
Summary: In which Lucas has hanahaki disease, and flowers fill his lungs until he faces his unrequited love.





	internally consumed

Lucas knew what it meant before he felt the fluttering in his chest. He knew what it meant before he felt the vines pricking at his heart and the piercing thorns that made it hard to breathe.

He’s heard stories of people coughing up flowers, wiping away blood on their sleeves and waning away until a confession blooms from their lips.

Love.

Lucas knows he’s screwed. He doesn’t know how to explain to anyone that no, he can’t just go and tell the person how he feels. How the fuck is he supposed to do that to Eliott Demaury? Eliott Demaury, who’s gorgeous and kind and beautiful, and who’s also very, very straight and already dating someone.

Lucas is so screwed.

He coughs up the first petal in his room and gags, the petal falling out into his outstretched palms. It’s red, and of course, it’s a fucking rose.

He gazes at the petal, turning it around in his palms, thinking to himself that this is the worst way he could ever have imagined going out. Lucas is going to actually die because there’s no freaking way that he’s ever going to stop loving Eliott.

Eliott who somehow decided to talk to Lucas at the bus stop, Eliott who smiles at Lucas in the hallways and nudges his shoulder whenever he feels like it. 

Lucas knew he was done for when he found himself playing that stupid piano song to Eliott, and Lucas knows very well what that song is called. I love you. He’s only surprised that he managed to get through it without messing up because god knows what Eliott does to his nerves sometimes. 

Maybe I’ll just avoid him, Lucas thinks desperately one night, as his coughing gets worse and he stumbles to the bathroom, coughing out rose petals stained with blood, and he rinses out his mouth, throat stinging. 

Maybe if he stops seeing Eliott, he’ll stop coughing up rose petals. 

Lucas knows the rose petals are the worst because they get you so much quicker. With the thorns, and the way they multiply to fill up all existing space in your lungs.

He could get them removed, he thinks blindly, but no. No way. He doesn’t want to do that, doesn’t want to face the humiliating idea of never experiencing love ever again.

Love, or life?

Lucas thinks he’s very, very stupid because he’s leaning more towards the option of love. Of fucking course. Eliott’s stemming into every single part of his life.

But it’s incredibly hard to ignore someone like Eliott Demaury, especially when Eliott knows all his classes and schedules, and seems to be able to spot Lucas in the crowd even though Lucas is incredibly small. 

Eliott taps him on the shoulder, lips already pressed into a huge smile. “You’re hard to find,” he laughs, slinging an arm around Lucas for a quick moment, “did you get my text?”

Lucas vaguely feels himself melt into Eliott’s embrace, then feels like he’s falling apart when Eliott’s warmth leaves his shoulders. He feels the vines wrapping around his heart squeeze, and Lucas shudders, wrapping his arms around himself. 

Eliott blinks, then tilts his head, frowning. “You okay?”

Lucas smiles, forcing himself not to breathe. He nods and makes some gesture that in some world makes sense to mean that Lucas will find him later.

He runs to the bathroom and coughs out petals into the sink, petals fluttering and blood swirling down the drain. Shit, shit, shit.

He supposes it was only a matter of time before someone caught on. When Lisa stands next to the couch he sleeps on, gingerly holding up a bag full of rose petals, Lucas freezes. 

“You’re screwed,” she says.

Lucas nods, swallowing. “You know?”

Lisa looks at him tiredly, then sits down. Lucas takes it as an invitation to sit beside her.

“It only gets worse,” she mutters, running a hand over her eyes. “It gets hard to breathe, and then the flowers crawl up your throat.” She pauses to look at Lucas, frowning. “You need to talk to them, or get the flowers removed.”

“Did you?”

Lisa looks incredibly exhausted. “Both.”

Lucas feels his heart fall into a pit. “Oh,” is all he can say. “Lisa … I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s in the past, I guess.”

Lucas searches for words. “What does it feel like?”

“Nothing.” Lisa stares off into the distance, blinking and then meeting Lucas’ eyes. “Nothing at all.”

Lucas only gets worse. Because the more time he spends away from Eliott, the worse his coughing gets. There are so many rose petals falling from his chest, and he’s too weak, too exhausted to gather them and tuck them away.

Lucas looks at his phone, sees a bunch of texts from Eliott, wondering why he hasn’t been at school. Why he hasn’t been answering his texts.

Lucas feels horrible. Every single time he breathes, he feels the thorns scratching against his chest, against his throat, feels the vines expanding and the petals growing further and further up. It’s terrifying, and one day Lucas feels a bout of madness come over him, and he tries to reach in his mouth to pull them out.

He can’t, his hand won’t even fit in his mouth, and he slumps against the bathroom floor, banging his fist against the floor.

Lisa finds him, manages to get up from her room and holds him, running a comforting hand across his back. “Stop suffering, Lucas. Just talk to them.”

The next day Lucas finds himself lying on the couch, unable to get up to answer the door that’s been ringing for minutes. 

“Mika,” he coughs, “please?” 

Mika gazes at him with sympathy and opens the door. He hears Mika talking to someone, but Lucas can’t focus with the ringing in his ears and the stuffiness of the room, and he feels so sick.

“Lucas?” 

Lucas snaps his eyes open. It’s Eliott. 

Fuck.

Eliott’s carrying books and papers, and he sets it down on the table beside the couch. He leans down, reaching to move aside a strand of hair that’s fallen into Lucas’ face and covers his eyes. 

“I brought your school stuff,” Eliott says, and Lucas thinks he sounds real far away. “Lu, shit, you’re freezing.”

Lucas blinks, then blindly tries to sit up.

“No,” Eliott says firmly, pushing Lucas back down. “No, stay here.” He pulls a paper bag out from his backpack, “I’m making you soup and then you’re going to get better.”

If it weren’t for his situation, Lucas would’ve laughed. Who knew it would take getting sick to get Eliott to completely fawn over him? Lucas also feels his heart twinge because apparently, Eliott deems it unacceptable that Lucas won’t get better.

He watches Eliott grab pots and pours different things onto the stove, and despite the worry he has originally, it disappears when he smells the soup and it smells delicious.

“Aren’t you supposed to be like, a terrible cook?” Lucas manages to croak, his voice scratchy. It’s hard to breathe, and he wheezes, shutting his eyes.

“Store-bought,” Eliott grins from the kitchen. “I didn’t want to risk poisoning you.”

Lucas lets out a little laugh. Then he shivers, snuggling further into the couch and tucks his legs closer to his chest.

He doesn’t notice that the soup’s ready until Eliott taps him on the shoulder and hands the bowl of soup out toward him. 

Lucas knows what’s going to happen if he eats. But then he sees the expression in Eliott’s face and he reluctantly takes the spoon, cursing in his head. 

There’s no way this is going to go well.

He drinks a careful sip of the soup, and it’s good, but then he swallows and the broth stings at the cuts in his throat, and Lucas nearly thrusts the bowl back toward Eliott. 

He shudders, twisting his neck and feels the vines stretching. 

Shit.

“Lucas?” Eliott’s concerned, eyes wide and panicked. “Do I need to get Mika? Are you okay?”

Lucas can’t do it anymore. He tries to push past Eliott but he’s too weak, too exhausted. He coughs, rose petals tumbling out of his mouth and into his hands. He watches with horror to see the petals laced with blood, and he dimly notices that they’re much redder than before. 

And then he really can’t breathe. He pushes the bowl of soup on the table beside him, clutching at his throat. The petals are brushing the base of his throat, and when he breathes he can feel the air rushing past them, and it stings. Lucas thinks his throat is actually raw, and he reaches for Eliott, tears threatening to fall.

“I can’t breathe,” Lucas whispers, shutting his eyes. “I can’t fucking breathe —“

Eliott’s arms are everywhere, wrapping around Lucas, hands brushing aside Lucas’ hair and pressing at his cheeks. “Oh my god. You need to go to the hospital.”

Lucas widens his eyes. “No. No, no please, no.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Eliott’s voice is shaky, he grabs a tissue from the box on the sofa table and carefully wipes away the blood against Lucas’ lips. “Lucas, you’re —“

“Dying?” Lucas coughs, eyes wrinkling. “Yeah.”

Eliott lets out a sound in the back of his throat, and it nearly sounds like a whimper. “No, Lucas, you can’t just do nothing. You can’t, not now,” he whispers.

Lucas melts into Eliott’s arms, resting his head against Eliott’s chest. It feels so warm, so right, and Lucas lets a small tear leak from the corner of his eye. 

Eliott freezes, his thumb brushing away the tear from Lucas’ face. “Lucas?”

“I’m sorry,” Lucas whimpers.

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to love you,” Lucas chokes out. “I know you’re dating Lucille and I never wanted to —“ he falters off, breaking away from Eliott and tucking himself into the corner of his couch. “You can leave. I, I understand.”

What Lucas doesn’t understand, is why Eliott shakes his head and carefully moves closer, hands cradling Lucas’ face and tracing his cheekbones.

“I’m not dating Lucille,” is what Eliott says softly. “Me and Lucille, we stopped dating a while ago.”

Lucas blinks.

“I stopped dating Lucille,” Eliott continues, “because I wanted to be with you.”

Lucas thinks his heart’s stopped working. 

Eliott leans forward, eyes warm yet impossibly sad. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Lucas falls toward Eliott, and Eliott catches him, wrapping his arms around him. Lucas lets his head fall into the spot where Eliott’s arm meets his chest, and Eliott presses little kisses atop Lucas’ forehead. 

Lucas dimly feels the flowers receding, feels the vines unraveling around his heart. He sucks in a breath, hands gripping Eliott’s shirt, and he widens his eyes as he feels his heart start to beat again. 

He stays like that for a while, wrapped next to Eliott, head nestled against his chest. He doesn’t want to move, still can’t really move, but he thinks that maybe he can get through these next few days.

And he thinks, exhaustedly before he falls asleep, that if anyone ever gets him another fucking rose, he’ll smack them in the face.


End file.
